


Twisted and Warped

by Djinn



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:16:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8431522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djinn/pseuds/Djinn
Summary: "Twisted" was written for the Christine Chapel Fanfiction Fest. The challenge was to have Chapel switch bodies with someone as the result of a transporter accident. It could have been humorous and fun, so of course my muse took a darker road instead. "Warped" is a sequel that takes place during the STVI:TUC timeframe.





	1. Twisted

"Stand by for transport," the tech said.

Chapel looked over at her team. They'd done well in the disaster simulation. One in particular had done so well that Chapel intended to recommend to Cartwright that they keep her on the team permanently. She smiled at Valeris and saw the woman's eyes light up as they so often did. For a pure Vulcan, she was very open.

"Ma'am, we've got a lot of interference," the tech said with a frown, staring down at his station. He made a few adjustments. "I'm going to have to beam you up to the shuttle in pairs."

Chapel nodded and motioned for Lieutenants Corelli and Sullivan to go ahead. The two men disappeared, and Chapel and Valeris took their places on the pad. 

"Energizing," Christine heard just before the world seemed to spin around her. She closed her eyes and felt a sickening lurch, then a feeling of nausea. The transporter room melted away and there was another lurch. When she opened her eyes, she was staring at the ceiling. "What happened?"

"Just lie still, Lieutenant," Corelli said softly.

"Lieutenant?" Chapel sat up and was immediately sorry. The room spun crazily. And the noises—why was everything so loud?

She looked over to her right, where Valeris had been standing. There was only the shuttle wall. Where was Valeris?

She looked to the other side and gasped. She lay there. Just where she should have been. Only it wasn't her. She was—

She held up her hand. It had a distinct greenish tinge. She felt her ear tips. They were pointed. Her hair felt thicker, coarser. She pulled a strand loose. Black. Not chestnut brown. Raven black.

She was in Valeris's body. Was Valeris in hers? Was she even alive? She reached out to touch herself, her other self. Her real self. And the room began to spin again. Everything went dark, and she fell back. 

Correlli's hands easing her down were the last thing she knew before the world went black.

##

She woke in Starfleet Medical, looked over, and saw Spock sitting by her bed. She frowned and could feel her face protesting at the movement. 

Then she remembered. She was in Valeris's body. And Valeris didn't frown. She realized Spock was staring at her, his face grave—and very tender. 

"I am gratified to see you awake."

He was? She saw his eyes warm. Valeris. Oh. He meant he was happy that Valeris was awake.

"Spock, I—"

His touched her forehead, brushing the hair off her face so gently that she shut up. "Shhh. Rest. The doctors said you need to sleep."

"How is Commander Chapel?"

"She is in a coma." He did not look particularly broken up over that fact.

"She'll be all right?" Why was she referring to herself in third person? She should tell Spock what happened.

"I do not know." Not a flicker of emotion passed his face. But then he leaned forward and seemed to be studying her face. "I found myself quite incapable of concentrating, Lieutenant. The idea that you might be hurt. That I might have lost you..."

Chapel felt her face freeze. Spock seemed not to notice.

"I have kept many things to myself. But I believe the time for keeping secrets is past. I hold you in high esteem, Valeris."

Chapel just stared at him. Unsure what to say. Valeris had said that Spock was her sponsor at the Academy. She'd forgotten to mention that the man was in love with her.

Maybe she hadn't known? 

She closed her eyes. 

"You are tired. I will let you rest." Again his hand swept over her hair, and his expression didn't change—was he so upset he couldn't feel that she was different? Or had he not touched Valeris enough to know what she felt like? 

His touch should have felt good. But it left Chapel feeling emptier than she'd ever felt before.

She closed her eyes tightly. Valeris would never cry.

##

Chapel opened her—Valeris's eyes. Words were tricky. So was perspective. Something was off, different in her vision. She realized she could see more colors—or maybe the world was just more intensely colored. Vulcan super vision, she supposed.

"Lieutenant?"

She looked over to her side. Admiral Cartwright sat there. Staring down at her with concern. 

He cared. Finally someone who cared about her.

"Sir?"

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I shouldn't have come in here. But I was just in Christine's—Commander Chapel's room."

"How is she?" 

Cartwright smiled gently. "She'll pull through. She's strong. Tough. She'll wake up soon. You'll see." His smile faded a bit. "She has to. I need her."

A surge of relief filled Chapel. He needed her. He actually cared. About her. Not just Valeris.

"Admiral Cartwright," she said, ready to tell him it was her. Ready to let him know she was okay. He was her boss, her good friend. She could tell him anything. "Matt," she whispered.

He seemed not to hear her, just stood up and said, "I have to go."

Before she could get the truth out he was at the door.

He turned. "You're being released today. Spock will be by to collect you."

Spock would?

Cartwright seemed to shrink in on himself. "She'll be all right," he muttered. Then he was gone.

##

Chapel walked slowly around Spock's apartment. It was hot—Vulcan hot—but for once the heat didn't bother her. It felt good.

Spock walked up to her and handed her a cup of Vulcan tea. 

"Most kind," she murmured in the way she'd heard Valeris do.

"It is not kindness. It is far more than that." He gently turned her and urged her to the sofa. "You must rest."

"I am not tired."

"No?"

She shook her head. Then she set the cup of tea down on the table and gently reached up and stroked the side of his face.

What in the hell was she doing?

His eyes closed. His breathing became ragged. He wanted her—Valeris. He wanted Valeris so much. 

And he couldn't tell it was her. She'd been trained in shielding—they worked around a lot of psi-capable species. Keeping secrets to yourself around them was a learned skill.

But Spock had shared consciousness with her? Couldn't he tell it was her? Couldn't he _feel_ it was her?

She closed her eyes and remembered how it had felt to hear that he was dead. How it had felt to hear a few days later that he lived. She'd called his father to Earth, stranding Sarek when the whale probe had come calling. She, who had never been able to touch the son's heart even a little, had watched as Spock stood with the rest of the crew. She'd nearly wept at the relief of seeing him alive again.

She wasn't a part of that crew anymore. Spock barely spoke to her when they ran into each other in the hallways. She was in Emergency Ops. She was happy being out of the _Enterprise_ gang. She was finally happy. 

And now she was in Valeris's body. Her own body was lying in a hospital bed, with Valeris trapped inside. Was she awake but held hostage by that deep catatonia? Did she have any idea what was happening?

"Valeris," Spock murmured. 

Chapel looked up at him. Saw the desire in his eyes. The love. He was in love with Valeris.

He had never been in love with her. Not ever. Although that one time, during his Pon Farr, he might have taken her then. She might have been an acceptable substitute for that elegant Vulcan woman he called his wife. 

She might have done in a pinch. A stopgap measure until they'd reached the Vulcan sands and she'd been discarded like yesterday's garbage.

Now he was looking at her—at Valeris—as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. His hands reached for the meld points and she shied away.

"No." She turned away. "Not that. Not yet."

He sat back, a frown on this face. "No meld."

"If you wish to know me, would it not be better to discover me little by little?" She slowly reached up and undid the top fastener on the robe he'd brought her to wear.

His eyes dilated as he watched her.

"Would you not like to learn how I think the same way you learn how I feel? By discovery, by conversation? By tactile experimentation?"

His mouth opened slightly.

Did she even sound like Valeris? How could he just watch her, his eyes filled with lust? Did he not know that his beloved was no longer inside this supple form?

Or did he only care for the supple form?

He crushed her to him, his hands roaming over her frantically. His lips pressed down on hers. Hard, too hard. He pushed her back, pulling the fasteners free, slipping the robe down and down and off.

Then he stopped and just stared at her. As if in awe. As if she was a goddess.

"Valeris," he said so softly it was barely more than a breath. "My Valeris."

She needed to stop this. It wasn't right.

She reached out for him anyway. She pulled him down to her. His mouth was on her breast, his hands roaming lower. She moaned. 

He pulled away long enough to pull off his own robe. Then he was back, his taller, lean body joining with hers almost effortlessly. She heard him whisper Valeris's name over and over and over until she thought she might go mad from the sound.

The weight of him made her suddenly claustrophobic and for a moment she felt a blind panic. Then he began to thrust into her repeatedly, his fingers moving against her, driving her Vulcan body mad. Even as she responded, crying out, she felt something die inside of her.

Had she really thought, even after all these years, that he might love her?

Was she really that stupid?

He loved Valeris. He would never love Christine Chapel.

She looked up at him. His eyes were soft. He seemed not to notice that hers were not. That hers were in fact staring at him with a hatred that seemed to be as overwhelming as the love she'd just had pounded out of her. That he had just pounded out of her to the litany of, "Valeris. Valeris. Valeris."

She wondered if Valeris knew what had just happened. Did she somehow feel this sharing, this dark violation? If she felt it, she could do nothing. She was locked away. Locked inside the shell that had been her boss, her mentor, her friend.

How could Chapel do this to a woman she considered a friend? A new one, but still a friend.

Spock rolled off her, got up, and she realized the comm unit was ringing. He hit the audio only. "Yes?"

"It's Admiral Cartwright. I thought Lieutenant Valeris would want to know that Commander Chapel died a short while ago."

Spock turned to look at her, pity in his eyes. Pity for Valeris. There was no emotion in his face for Christine Chapel.

She nodded. Her body was dead. Valeris was dead. She was alive. In Valeris's body.

The new love of a man she suddenly hated with every fiber of her being.

She got up and pulled her robe back on. "I need to be alone for a while. I am going to walk."

"But you need rest."

She could feel her eyebrow lifting in a way she'd never been able to do when she was human. "Did I need rest when we made love?"

He actually looked chagrined. "I could come with you?" His voice was tentative, off balance. 

She shook her head. "I will go alone, Spock. But thank you for your concern." The words came out snide. 

He didn't notice. Just nodded and went into his study.

She walked out of his apartment and hurried down the street to get away, far away from Spock, from what had just happened. She kept hearing Cartwright's voice on the comm unit. He'd sounded so empty. 

She saw a public comm station, keyed in Cartwright's personal number. 

He answered immediately.

"Are you home, sir?"

He had been crying. Had he been crying for her? 

"I'm not in the mood for company, Lieutenant."

"Matt," she said softly, the way she used to when he'd worked himself into a stupor and had been in danger of falling off his chair. The way she used to when he would order her and her staff to go home but then forget to grab his own coat. The way she had done that one time when they'd both stayed up through too many shifts, when they'd ended up in his apartment, dead tired but pulling each others' clothes off anyway. 

"Matt."

Valeris would never call him that. And she thought that he was smart enough to tell them apart.

He looked up, his eyes suspicious, shocked. Then horrified. "Christine?"

She nodded.

"But how? When?" Then his face fell. "Spock?"

"Spock doesn't know. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Yes. Hurry."

She did hurry. Her new young Vulcan body making short work of the distance. She was strong. She was lithe. She was lovely.

She was never going to be Christine Chapel again.

He was in the lobby of his building, seemed to drink her in, as if he could see past the Vulcan facade to the human inside. "Lieutenant," he said formally, his tone at odds with the hunger in his eyes.

"Admiral." She followed him into the elevator and down the hall, into his apartment. 

Then he was clutching her to him, his body shaking as he sobbed. "I lost you. I thought I lost you."

She kissed him and wondered how it was he could see his lost woman, yet Spock could not detect the lack of his Valeris. "Matt, shhh. I'm all right. I'm here." 

She kissed him again and he turned so that their lips met. Hungrily. 

Then she pulled away. "I was with him."

"Spock?"

She nodded. He knew the story of her love for Spock. Hadn't lived it exactly, so he didn't know how pathetic she truly was, but he knew it.

He pulled away. "Oh."

"No. You don't understand. I just wanted you to know that because I hate him." She could feel a tear in her eye. She'd always wondered if Vulcans could cry. "I hate him."

She kissed him again and felt him respond. He pulled her to his bedroom and made love to her, his sweat and saliva and semen washing her clean, pushing Spock out of her.

As they lay quietly, she turned and studied him. He was looking at her, as if trying to find something familiar in the youthful Vulcan features. 

"So different on the outside," he finally said. He set his hand where her heart would have been if she had still been human. "So much the same inside."

She resisted a smile. Her insides were jumbled up too. Vulcan now. But her soul—whatever it was that made her Christine Chapel—that was the same. 

She turned over and faced him, the space between them almost nonexistent. "I know you're involved in something. You have been for some time. You've kept me out of it, haven't you?"

He shook his head.

"I know you, Matt. How long have we worked together? And I'm not stupid."

He smiled and ran his finger down her nose the way he had their first time together. "I know you're not."

"I want in."

His finger froze. 

"I want in, Matt." She snuggled closer to him, kissing his neck. "I can be useful to you."

He took a deep breath. "Don't you want to know what we're doing?"

"It's got something to do with the Klingons, right?" It was always the Klingons with him.

He nodded. "Spock is reaching out to them."

"Is he?"

Cartwright nodded.

She could feel her lips turning up in a cold smile. "Then how fortunate that I am involved with him."

He nodded slowly. "You don't know what she knows. You aren't trained, you aren't a Vulcan."

"I am now. Like it or not." She stretched. Strong. She was Vulcan strong. And young again. "And I know enough. The rest, you'll have to teach me. Let's put this fine Vulcan brain to use." She thought of Lester, how she had never seemed to become Kirk. Could she have, given time?

Cartwright nodded. "We can schedule follow-up tests, just precautionary after the accident."

She smiled again. "A good cover for catch-up learning."

He nodded, smiling. Then his smile faded. "You don't have to do this."

"I want to." She could feel the hatred solidifying inside her. For Spock. Maybe for herself. But not for Cartwright. Never for Cartwright. He would be her messiah. Her lover. She would follow him into hell if need be.

She could feel something tighten in her abdomen and parts lower. Realized it was anger, and her Vulcan body reacted to that anger in ways quite different than a human one might.

She reached down and began to rub against Cartwright. "Tell me what you need me to do."

"Stay close to him."

She looked down. Nodded.

He pulled her head up. "Stay close to me."

She smiled and moved onto him. That would be the easy part.

"Christine," he murmured as she rocked on top of him, reveling in the power of her new body. 

She'd have to tell him to stop that. She was Valeris now. Only Valeris.

"Christine," he said again. 

It was so good to hear her name on his lips.

She'd be Valeris later.

For the rest of her life.


	2. Warped

"Lieutenant," Spock said, his eyes shining in the way they did whenever he looked at her. "I will see you soon on the ship."

Chapel nodded, then turned and walked away, trying not to look as if she was hurrying away from his apartment. He was going to Qo'noS again. Not that he'd told her that, of course, but Cartwright knew where Spock was going, and he'd told her. Matt told her everything. 

As she waited for the elevator at the end of the hall, she turned and stared into the mirror on the wall behind her. Valeris looked back at her. Valeris's calm, cool face betrayed none of Christine's inner turmoil, or her loathing for the man she'd just left. In fact, Valeris's body never betrayed that distaste—Christine had become expert at using her stolen Vulcan body to cover up all her emotions. 

Spock was a touch telepath. Spock touched her all the time. Spock hadn't a clue that she hated him.

Spock was not as smart as she'd always believed him to be. Or else he was just too in love with his little Vulcan protege to ever bother to look deep inside her for a very bitter human. A human he'd never wanted but who he now made love to with nauseating regularity. A human who didn't want him anymore, who wanted to jump in the shower and scrub his touch off her skin.

The elevator opened, and she left her image behind, hurrying into the lift, and then out again. Matt, she needed to get to Matt. She could let him scrub Spock from her skin with his lips and hands. Matt loved her—Christine, not Valeris. And together, they would reclaim the future. The future Spock was so intent on selling to the Klingons.

The future that loomed just ahead of them. But they were ready for it. And they weren't alone. There were Klingons and Romulans who were more than willing to play into their hands. Who thought that this unholy alliance was really about preserving the status quo. Chang and Nanclus could not see that in the end they would be used and discarded. They would end up charred husks who would die so that the Federation might endure. 

Chapel wasn't sure that she cared all that much either way. But she loved Matt, and he did care. And she hated Spock, and he wanted what they were trying to stop. She was no true believer, but her zeal was solid in its own twisted way. Emotions—whether noble or dark—were as good as causes in the long run.

Matthew was pacing when she palmed open his door. He pulled her to him, his lips on hers before she could get a greeting out. He hated sharing her with Spock, but he never took it out on her, and his lips were passionate but not cruel as they forced her mouth to open to him.

She gave herself freely, her arms circling him, her young, strong body pressing against his, making him moan as if his world was coming to an end. As they sank to the floor, she felt the thrill of their passion course through her, then felt a more tender feeling follow.

She loved him so. And he loved her. And she could let go with him, be who and what she was even if that true nature was contained in the somber Vulcan frame. She didn't have to be on guard for elegant fingers that strayed to the meld points even though she'd "confided" to Spock that she did not like to meld, that she'd had a very unpleasant experience with one early in her training. He was so sure he could help her with that, make it better, replace the bad memory with a good one with him as the star. 

She'd snapped at him more than once to get his hands off her face since that first time they'd had sex. He seemed to take her ire as proof of deep trauma, never seemed to suspect that his Vulcan lover was not precisely what she seemed.

He always apologized profusely each time he forgot himself.

"Christine," Matthew said, shaking her lightly. "He's got you again."

She could feel her face fall. She did not like to let Spock intrude on them. "I'm sorry." She kissed him again and again, until he pulled her under him and made love to her fiercely.

She had not known it was possible to love like this.

Sometimes she wondered if it was possible to love like this only because her ardor for Matt was counterbalanced by so much hatred for Spock. 

She ignored the thought, giving herself over to him again. Soon, it would be harder to find time together. Soon Spock would be back full time and then she would be on the ship. Kirk's ship. The _Enterprise_. 

Her old home. Only not this ship. She'd never served on this ship.

Thank god she'd never served on this ship.

She forced herself to forget about the ship, to pay attention to the man she loved. He seemed to be having no problem paying attention to her.

##

She sat silently, watching her old friends as they bustled around. They had no idea that she was to blame for what had happened. They were blissfully unaware that Sandeau and Burke had been under her orders when they'd beamed over to Gorkon's ship and massacred the chance for peace. They didn't suspect that Kirk and McCoy were stuck on that frozen Klingon hell world because of her. She'd never intended her captain and mentor to wind up paying for this and knew Matthew would be frantic trying to rescue his old friend. They had counted on Kirk doing what he always did—winning. They had never counted on him doing what he never did. But he had done it. The unthinkable. He had surrendered.

Spock was going as crazy here as her lover would be on Earth. But while she felt bad for Matthew and for Kirk and Len, she found she could feel nothing for Spock but some sort of sick amusement. He was hurting. Even as he ran around playing detective, he was hurting. And she was enjoying that hurt.

She fought a smile as she turned to watch Uhura and Chekov wrestle with Starfleet's directive to come home. They seemed sadly grateful for her nudge toward sabotage. It was just one of the countless pieces of information stored in the amazing Vulcan mind that was now at her disposal. It had taken time, and more sessions with a retraining helmet than she wanted to think about, but she'd learned to make her Vulcan intellect work for her. A true Vulcan—if she were to spend any time with one—would know something was off. But Spock never noticed.

Then again, she no longer considered him a true Vulcan. She often wondered if Valeris ever had. Would the woman have given him the time of day, or had she harbored feelings for him that mirrored the ones he held for her sweet body? 

It still amazed Chapel that Spock could not see through her ruse. But she also knew that people—even Vulcans—often saw only what they wanted to.

The lift arrived, and she could hear the doors beginning to open. She loved the acuity of her new hearing, how every little sound was enhanced. It made life less unknown, made what waited around the corner just a little less scary. 

Spock walked out of the lift. She had not been able to tell he was in it, which was a blessing. They were not bonded, would never be bonded, despite his increasingly frequent allusions to making their union permanent. She did not argue, just stalled for time. She pretended to be agreeable—for some remote and unspecified future moment when they could join.

It would be a cold day in hell before they would ever join.

##

Kirk was back, Leonard too. Matthew would be happy. Chapel would be happy too, if she were not standing in front of them all, alone. Under fire. The traitor revealed.

She'd had to kill Burke and Sandeau. Had stunned them first, then held the phaser to their foreheads and fired long and patiently. It took a long time to kill a man on stun. And she'd known they were dead—she was a doctor for cripe's sake. Why had she fallen for the trap Spock and Kirk had set for her? Why hadn't she trusted in herself?

She knew why. She couldn't afford any loose ends. Wanted nothing that might implicate Matthew or her. And so she'd gone to sickbay, to end her co-conspirators' tentative hold on life. And had found Spock waiting for her.

She'd never seen Spock so angry. He had nearly broken her hand when he'd swatted away her phaser—would have broken it if she were anything but full Vulcan.

He looked less furious now, but she was afraid that was just a mask. A veneer of control he'd pulled down over his rage so that he could function.

He had loved her. She'd betrayed him.

She had a feeling that he would not take betrayal lightly.

She decided to ignore Spock, ignore all of them for a moment as she gathered her wits—or Valeris's—about her. When she spoke, her voice was calm. "I did not fire. You cannot prove anything."

"Yes, I can. At my trial my personal log was used against me," Kirk said. "How long did you wait outside my quarters before I noticed you?" His voice was the clipped voice of the Kirk she'd seen too many times on the ship. The one who'd had enough of the bullshit and was ready to cut to the chase. Cut through her, if need be, to get to the chase.

Peace, after all, was at stake.

She looked at Spock. It was time to engage the enemy. "You knew? I tried to tell you but you would not listen."

"Neither of us was hearing very well that night, Lieutenant," he said, his voice doing strange things to her title. It came out nearly as an endearment, as well as a condemnation. As if he would like nothing more than to relegate her to only a colleague, not the lover he'd spilled himself into over and over and over. "There were things I tried to tell you, about having faith."

Faith? What faith was there in a world where she had been just trying to get back to her ship and had ended up in someone else's body? Where she could destroy everything around her, including her own soul, just by continuing to breathe? She looked at her old friends. Faith was irrelevant. This was for love now. This was for Matthew. And Matt believed. She would find some of that belief. For him, she would become a zealot. "You betrayed the Federation, all of you."

"And what do you think you've been doing?" McCoy asked.

"Saving Starfleet. Klingons cannot be trusted." She turned back to Kirk. He might want to cut to the chase, but at least he did not look at her with those martyred eyes like Spock did. "Sir, you said so yourself, they killed your son—did you not wish Gorkon dead? 'Let them die,' you said. Did I misinterpret you? And you were right. They conspired with us to assassinate their own Chancellor. How trustworthy can they be?"

"Klingons and Federation members conspiring together?" That appeared to be news to McCoy. She wondered where he'd been. Then she remembered. She'd consigned him to the place where hell had frozen over.

Kirk was clearly tired of the debate. "Who is 'us'?"

"Everyone who stands to lose from peace." She would not answer him. She would never betray Matthew.

"Names, Lieutenant."

She wanted to smile, but forced her features into the non-expression that only a true Vulcan could achieve. "My comrades will make certain all your ship to shore transmissions are jammed."

"Names, Lieutenant!" Kirk's patience—if he had any left—was leaking away.

She wanted to laugh at him. Did he think she would be scared by his words, by the anger that shone out of his eyes? Did he think he could intimidate her? "I do not...remember." 

She turned and stared out the viewscreen, conjuring up a picture of Matthew to keep her safe.

"A lie?" Spock asked, turning her own words from when they'd been playing their silly detective game against her. 

"A choice," she said.

She waited and heard Kirk say, "Spock."

Then she heard Spock's footsteps, the ones she'd dreaded so many times as they came toward her when she lay in his bed. The ones she'd known meant another night with him. A night full of steeling her mind not to react, of telling her body to let him touch her. Of forcing herself to pretend that she enjoyed his touch. Those hated footsteps hit the stairs, leaden now with the quiet rage that seemed to pour from him. 

He pulled her to him, his fingers pushing painfully into her neck. But not as painfully as he might have if he'd been full Vulcan. He still had human in him. He was still tainted with the very thing that had made Christine so unattractive to him. And he was acting like a human at this moment. She wanted to taunt him with it but decided it would not be prudent.

Then he reached for her face, and she panicked, tried to wrestle away from his inferior strength, but his anger gave him the edge. His fingers pushed down on her face, and then there was only the terrible ripping sensation as he parted her mind in a way that was a million light years from the other time they'd shared consciousness.

He did not care if he hurt her.

He did not care if he damaged her mind.

No, that was not true. He did care if he hurt her. In fact, he had never cared so much about anything. Hurting her was his entire world. If she was damaged in the process, so be it.

She tried to shield, but staying separate in a meld was one Vulcan talent she had not exercised as she'd taken over Valeris's life. He pushed her puny defenses aside, tore past her attempts to slow him. Her mind lay open to him, every memory, every thought, every feeling.

He reeled back, and she could feel his disgust as he realized that her feelings were far too human. And as he realized her memories were not what he expected.

As he realized who she was.

_No!_

The word reverberated through her mind, nearly shattering her sanity. Only his hand on her neck kept her upright, and her head ached, her neck screamed for relief as she tried to sag and found his strength too great to escape. 

_Where is she?_

It was a thought more than words. A feeling more than a message. And as he tore through her, searching for Valeris in her mind, his rage grew.

She thought she might throw up his grip tightened on the meld points, and she desperately fought to keep her memories away from him. But he was already inside her most treasured ones. Was already reliving all her times with Matt.

Her lover. The man she could not protect. Her voice and Spock's said, "Admiral Cartwright."

"From Starfleet?" someone—Chekov she thought—said.

"Who else?" Kirk asked. It had to hurt to know his friend had betrayed everything he'd thought they believed in. 

Spock pressed harder. She responded with words, heard them echoing from his mouth. "General Chang." 

"Who else?"

"Romulan Ambassador Nanclus."

Spock's rage was out of control. He gave up the interrogation, began to pull at the memories, shredding them as she watched, helpless to stop him. Matt, she said to herself, so she would not forget him. Matt, Matt, Matt—

"Where is the Peace Conference?" Kirk's voice stopped Spock from his ransacking.

She knew she was crying and wondered what her friends thought was going on in her mind. Then realized they still thought she was Valeris. Would Spock tell them the truth?

Would she?

"Where is the Peace Conference?" Kirk said again.

Spock's hand let go of her neck, came up to her face, pinching down on the other side, the meld points screaming in agony as he ratcheted up the connection. 

She cried out then. Pain, indescribable pain, both from his actions and from his own feelings battered her. She could feel his indecision then. He could destroy her. And his fingers pushed in just enough to make it happen. All it would take was for his mind to dip a little lower toward her center. One sharp tug, then a few more, and she'd be unanchored. All thought, no order. 

Mad. She'd be mad.

His mind grew fingers, each one poised to strike. She was shaking, waiting. 

What did it matter now? She had betrayed Matt. The conspiracy was over.

_Do it!_ She finally found her mind voice, shouted her hatred through the meld, and felt it echo inside him.

Empty. He was empty inside. Because of her. She laughed then. He was hurting as much as he was trying to hurt her. 

She wanted to make it a little bit worse. She replayed their time together, the sex that she hated, the kisses she wanted to wipe off her lips, the conversations after sex when all she could think about was getting away and over to Matt's apartment. _I hate you!_

He hated her too.

And he loved her. He still could not distinguish. His mind was trying to protect him. But it was only making it worse to think of her as Valeris. 

He crumbled then. Drew away and fled from her mind. "She does not know." 

She stood shakily, refusing to fall down. She realized he was too shaken to tell them that she was not Valeris. She decided she would not either, at least not yet. Perhaps never. It could be her final revenge. She'd never been good enough, not until she was a Vulcan. Why not let a Vulcan take the blame for what she'd done? 

She didn't fight anymore. Just answered the questions, and then let security lead her away. She caught Spock's eye as she left, smiled and knew that the expression must be abhorrent to him on his beloved's face.

His beloved who was no more. Chapel rubbed her head, feeling a massive headache starting. He had wanted to destroy her. And part of her wished he had.

The future would not be pleasant. Unless, of course, Matt managed to win.

##

Chapel paced in her cell, wishing they'd let her see Matt. The last time they'd been together had been at Khitomer—two failed destroyers of peace. She wondered if Spock had a hand in their separation. He had seen how much Matt meant to her, had tried to destroy those memories in that terrible meld. Could he be keeping them apart just to hurt her?

Or was it just the Federation Council being cautious? That was probably more likely. Spock didn't appear to have as much pull with them as she'd expected. He and Kirk had been able to convince the Council not to give her or Cartwright up for extradition, but Spock hadn't been able to argue them out of the punishment they had ultimately decided for her.

She would rather be on Rura Penthe than face what was in store.

Total Rehabilitation. It was a euphemism. It sounded so noble, like the end state of some very successful penal system. It was an end state, all right. And a beginning.

Mind wipe. That was what it meant. Mind wipe. When they were done with her, she would be a blank slate. No more murderer. No more traitor. No more doctor. No more anything. 

It was a tactic reserved for the most heinous criminals. They were sparing Cartwright because the headshrinkers at Starfleet medical thought redemption was possible for him. He may have been one of the masterminds, but his hands were only stained with second hand blood.

And she thought that perhaps someone even higher up than Spock was looking out for Matt.

She thought that this someone was trying to look out for her, too. One of the guards had told her that Spock had not been the only one to try to argue the Council out of mind-wiping her. That some of her colleagues and past supervisors had testified. But the Council had not been swayed. 

Any fool could see they needed a scapegoat.

It had only become embarrassing when Spock had told them the truth—that she was not really Valeris. She'd flatly denied it, mainly because she'd thought he had been trying to hurt her by exposing her. She'd been so stupid. By the time she'd understood what was at stake and had begun to support his story, it had looked like she was only trying to save herself. The Council thought she was crafty, not crazy, and they'd upheld the sentence. It hadn't made her feel any better when they'd looked on her with pity as they'd sentenced her to Total Rehabilitation.

Total annihilation would be a better term.

At least Matthew would be all right. She just wished she could see him one last time before they took everything she was away from her.

Everything that hadn't already been lost in that damned transporter accident.

The doors hissed open, and she looked through the force field as Spock walked in. He talked quietly to the guard, who let him into her cell, then turned away to give them some privacy.

"Spock." She didn't try to add any warmth to her voice. He wouldn't care anyway. "Why are you here?"

"I came to say goodbye." His eyes as they stared at her were resigned, but there was something else in them. Guilt maybe? Or regret? "It will be tonight."

She looked down, swallowing hard. She'd known it would be soon. Could tell it by the way the guards had been treating her. "Soon, I will be gone."

"Yes." 

He sat down, and she could see that his hands seemed to tremble. It gave her a surge of satisfaction. She didn't want to be the only one hurting. She was losing herself, but he'd lost the woman he'd loved. "They can rip my memories away, but you won't get her back."

"I am aware of that. Valeris is lost to me." He looked at her, his eyes hard, angry. "Why did you not tell anyone what had happened when you first regained consciousness?"

She'd had ample time to ask herself the same question since she'd been captured. "And what would you have done, Spock? Gathered your love's katra from my dying body? Pushed me out of hers and rushed off to Vulcan where one of your priestesses could have performed another fal-tor-pan? Et voila, your Valeris would have lived." She could tell by his expression that it was exactly what he would have done. "What about me then? I would have died."

"Your body did die. Perhaps it was you who were meant to die."

She shook her head. "I don't believe that. I'm alive. She's not. End of story." 

His jaw tightened. But he did not say the words she expected. He did not taunt her by pointing out that soon she would no longer exist either. They would both be lost. End of all stories.

"Why did you really come here, Spock?"

He sighed, and the sound seemed wrong coming from him. "I thought Valeris was my lover, but it was only ever you." He stared at her, his eyes questioning, as if still unable to understand how she could have done it.

She waited for more, wanted more. But nothing came. "That's not an answer."

He seemed determined not to give her one. Fell silent for moment, then said, "I will be present during the procedure."

"Revenge?"

His expression was reproachful. "No. Duty. You are—she was my protégé. Part of my family, in a way. And I and my family will care for whoever she will become once you are gone from her."

She felt a chill, tried to back away, but he caught her hand and held it tightly, out of sight of the guard. Ever since that forced meld, the link between them had opened at the slightest touch, and now she could feel his pain, and the lingering anger pouring into her, could also feel his terrible crushing sense of responsibility.

And just the slightest bit of hope. 

"You think you'll get her back?"

He looked away. Let go of her hand. 

"Or maybe you just think that whoever I become will be acceptable?"

"It is a Vulcan mind that you have taken over. I do not think that you will be strong enough to withstand a Vulcan mind coming back to life." His eyes were dead as he said, "Even if it is not her..."

"It won't be me." She laughed bitterly, understanding what he did not want to say. "The woman who tricked you. The woman who almost ruined all your big plans."

He met her gaze. "The woman who I would rather have never known."

She didn't flinch, didn't look away. Once upon a time, that remark would have stung. Might have made her cry. Now, it barely made a dent on the warped and tangled thing that was her conscience, her heart, her soul.

"I want to see Matthew again. Just once."

"And I want to see Valeris again. Just once. Neither of us will get our wish." He stood up.

"I won't say I'm sorry."

He almost smiled. "That is good. Because I know you are not. Except perhaps for yourself." He walked to the force field, motioned for the guard.

"I am sorry for her. I liked her. She was my friend."

"Is that so? Then I would not want to be your friend, Christine."

He slipped out as the field came down, did not stop to look back as the guard turned the force field back on.

She sank onto the bench. It would happen tonight. She felt a rush of fear, and an even stronger surge of nausea, and closed her eyes. She would be lost after tonight. Christine Chapel would cease to exist.

And Matt would be lost to her after tonight too. Turning her back on the guard, she lay down and thought of Matt, remembering every moment that she could, replaying it over and over in her mind until he filled her. She pushed everything else away. He was her world; he was everything she cared about. 

He was the only thing she cared about.

When they came to take her, she didn't fight them, just kept her mind focused on Matt. She could almost feel his lips on hers, his gentle touch on her arm whenever he'd had to wake her so she could go back to Spock. 

She did not make them force her into the chair, did not fight as the helmet was lowered, as the straps were tied around her arms and legs. She felt fear and let it flow through her, but did not stop thinking of Matt. He would be afraid now too. Afraid for her, and for himself. Because he loved her.

Because he would always love her.

She heard the sound of buttons being pushed, could make out the separate tones. Matthew had sounded different through Vulcan ears. His voice more rich, more nuanced. She'd been able to tell what he was feeling just by the layers of his tone.

A piercing pain shot through her, and she screamed his name.

Then there was only blackness and thundering noise in her head. She felt as if she was drowning, tried to breathe and felt too heavy to suck in air. 

She opened her mouth, called out for him again, but the scream came out as a moan. 

Then there was only agony.

##

She came to and tried to move but couldn't. Where was she? 

Who was she?

She felt gentle hands on her, her arms and legs were suddenly free, and her vision cleared as something large and heavy was pulled off her head.

Faces, so many faces. They peered at her, one in particular seemed so close. He had pointy ears and greenish skin and he was looking at her funny. 

Then he called her, "Valeris," and reached for her face.

Fear filled her, and she flinched back.

"It's all right," one of the others said, a woman who smelled good when she pulled her into comforting arms. "It's too soon, sir. Please let her be."

The green one nodded and moved back as the nice woman helped her stand up. She almost fell, but the woman held her up. 

"It's okay, dear."

A man took her other side, helping to support her. "You're going to be all right," he said softly, and he gave her a strange look. 

She thought she should know what it meant, but she didn't. 

Sad. The word came to her suddenly. He looked sad. Was he sad for her? Why? Why be sad when everyone was so nice to her and it was okay and she was going to be all right?

The nice woman talked softly to her. "It's all right now. No one's going to hurt you."

She liked the sound of the woman's voice, so she cuddled against her and felt the woman's hand on her hair. Then the woman's hand went around her shoulders, and she led her away from green man.

"Where are you taking her, Nurse?" 

"There's been a change in orders, sir. The Federation Council believes Valeris's retraining would be best accomplished here. They've denied your request for custody."

"I was not informed of these orders."

The woman turned so she could hand him a padd. "I'm sorry, sir. They must have forgotten to include you when they sent the order out." 

The green one moved toward them, but the nice man stepped in front of him. "It's official, sir. Admiral Darnell brought this padd by himself."

She didn't understand what they were talking about, but she thought that the green man looked angry.

"You'll be able to see her any time you want, sir. Unlimited supervised visits." The woman sounded very sweet. 

She liked the woman so much. She looked over at the green one. He seemed even angrier than before. 

She wished she understood what was happening.

He finally walked away, and she felt relief as the doors closed behind him. He made her feel funny. Like her insides were all twisted up.

The nice man walked to the door and said, "He's gone." 

"Come on, dear. Let's go." The woman urged her forward, her hand back on her hair. 

Being touched felt so good. They walked, and she pressed against the woman who never stopped rubbing her hand down her hair. They went past other people; people who made the nice woman and man stare into a box before they could go farther.

Then they were taking her through some doors, to a small room with a long chair with no back. A man sat there. 

He looked very sad.

He didn't say anything, just stared at her.

The woman was stroking her hair even harder. 

She stared at the man, wondering why they were not moving anymore. Why were they standing in front of him? Why did she have to watch him?

He finally looked down, brought his hand up and pushed at his forehead.

He always did that when he was sad. 

She cried out softly, unsure why she was filled with the need to push his hand away from his face. Why she thought he should be smiling.

"Sir..." the woman said softly.

The man looked up at her, letting his hand drop. "Do you know who I am?"

She frowned. Backed up a little and saw him frown too. 

"Christine," he said.

She stepped forward, pulling out of the woman's grasp. "What does that mean?"

He said the Christine word again. And again. And again.

"Close your eyes," the woman said. "Just listen to him."

She did as the woman said. Heard the force field coming down, heard his footsteps coming toward her and suddenly heard other footsteps, heavier, coming toward her in the dark. She felt afraid, took a step back. "No. Please."

The footsteps stopped. "Christine, don't be afraid. No one is going to hurt you."

She smiled. She knew that. Matt would never hurt her.

Matt?

Matt.

Matt, Matt, Matt.

The woman moved her closer to the man. "Christine, this is Matthew. Do you remember him?"

She shook her head. Then she nodded. She wanted to cry. This was so confusing.

"That's enough for today," the Matt man said. His voice made her feel safe.

"The man who just left?" The woman turned her so she had to look her in the eye. "When he comes to visit you, you must not tell him about Matt. Do you understand?"

She nodded. Felt a shiver run down her neck. Why did the green man have to come back?

"Don't scare her," the Matt man said.

She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. His voice had so many parts. "Who am I?"

"You are Christine Chapel." He sighed. "And you are Valeris. If anyone but us is around, you are Valeris."

"I don't understand."

"You will soon," the woman said. "We're going to retrain you a different way then what Spock thinks."

She frowned. "Who's Spock?"

Matt laughed, it seemed like a very happy laugh. "The man who just left."

"He's scary."

"I know."

She stepped closer to him, and he slowly reached out for her, and this time she wasn't afraid of fingers coming at her.

She heard him make a strange sound as he pulled her against him. Sniffing, she smiled. He smelled good. He smelled like happy things.

"I love you." He touched her hair, and it felt soft and good, but she wasn't sure what he'd touched her with since his hands were on her arms. 

She looked up at him, and then he leaned in and touched her again, his lips on hers. 

It felt good too.

"Matt," she said, wishing she understood what she felt.

"That's right. Matt." He pushed her away from him gently, and stepped back, and the nice man put the force field back in place.

"I'm Christine," she said. 

Matt nodded. "But you can't say that."

She remembered. "For everyone else, I'm Valeris."

"That's right."

"Come on, hon. Tomorrow's going to be a big day. First day of school." 

She looked at Matt, and he nodded. "It's all right. Go with Maura."

"Matt," she said again. It felt good to say it.

He smiled, and she smiled back. Then the nice woman led her to a room with a little bed and a big pillow, and she sank down on the bed, closing her eyes.

"Long live the conspiracy," the woman said.

"Long live the conspiracy," she echoed back.

Whatever that meant.

 

FIN


End file.
